Arao himself believed that Anami had decided months before that the war was hopeless. As far back as the fall of 1944, he had accompanied the general on an inspection tour of the Home Islands and heard him say that it was impossible to defend Japan from invasion. In May of 1945, when Anami had ordered the release from prison of Shigeru Yoshida, a friend of the peace faction, Arao had sensed that the general was preparing for the inevitable day of surrender. Yet on the evening of August 13, he stood in front of the War Minister and spoke of a revolution. The hard-pressed Arao handed Anami a piece of paper, containing the outlines of the projected coup. The general took it, read it quickly, then listened with his eyes closed as Arao elaborated on the details.
The rebellion was set for 10:00 A.M. the following morning. General Mori had already been approached and had promised to think about it. Even if he refused, the coup could proceed because most of his regimental commanders had agreed to act. Marquis Kido and Premier Suzuki would be imprisoned and the Emperor placed in a form of protective custody. The Eastern District Army would be a big stumbling block unless General Tanaka joined the rebels. He would be approached as soon as Anami consented to lend his name to the plot.
The fateful moment had arrived. On this man’s answer hung the fate of millions. Anami asked: “Are you sure that you’ve thought of everything? It seems to me that your groundwork is a little vague. There are too many things still to be accomplished.” He concluded, “The plan is very incomplete.” Still he did not say definitely whether he was for or against the basic idea of revolt.
The rebels begged for an answer. Anami told Arao to come to his office at midnight to discuss it further. Then he walked with the officers to the front porch. They were both discouraged and optimistic. Anami had not given quick approval as they had hoped but neither had he flatly rejected their plan. Anami waved them down the stairs and then added a note of caution: “Be careful, since they may be watching you tonight. Perhaps you had better return in separate groups instead of a single mass.” The rebels broke up and left quietly.
No one was watching them but Anami had good reason for saying what he did. Earlier in the week he had warned both General Mori and the secret police commander, Okido, to be on the lookout for trouble from the ranks.
Inside the house Colonel Hayashi was furious with his superior. By not vetoing the plan, Anami had implicitly encouraged the plotters. When Anami came back in, Hayashi spoke his mind: “You’ve given those men tacit agreement to their plans. You should say no definitely. It’s silly even to talk of a coup because the people won’t support it.”
Anami listened thoughtfully, then shrugged and said, “Perhaps you’re right. I’ll talk again to Arao.”
Hayashi felt that Anami was letting his men take unfair advantage of him and wanted to protect him from the intrigues. He doubted the War Minister’s political sense and questioned whether he should therefore even be the War Minister. He considered Anami an admirable person, rare among military men, but felt that those same qualities hindered his judgment of officers he liked. Now these officers were taking advantage of the relationship to foster a conspiracy, and Anami did nothing positive to crush the incipient danger.
Tojo, Anami’s predecessor, would have moved ruthlessly against the rebels. But Anami could not act against his own men, and as a result, they would spend the rest of the evening of August 13 making plans for revolt on the next day. Anami would have to change his tactics or the explosion would take place on time.
At midnight, the general was at his office where Arao joined him. Remembering Hayashi’s instructions, Anami told Arao that he doubted the coup would succeed. Again he avoided forbidding the conspirators to proceed with action.
After Arao left, Anami went to Hayashi and explained, “I told Arao what you said but I wonder if he will interpret it to mean that I am against the coup?”
Hayashi murmured, “I wonder.”
By two o’clock on the morning of the fourteenth, Anami was in bed. The other leading figures in the government crisis were also trying to get some rest before renewing the interminable struggle. Foreign Minister Togo had spent several hours in heated argument with General Umezu and Admiral Toyoda. During their discussion, Admiral Onishi, recovered from his dressing-down by Navy Minister Yonai, had burst in and demanded that Japan fight to the very end, to the death of all of the inhabitants of the nation. Togo let him ramble on, then flatly rejected his plea.
Premier Kantaro Suzuki slept like a drugged man. At eighty, he could not keep the pace maintained by Anami and others. His body ached with fatigue, his mind was numbed by the constant strain of debate and intrigue. Within hours, he would have to go once again to the Emperor of Japan for help, and the thought galled him. Somehow Suzuki felt he had failed His Majesty and yet he could not think of another way out of the dilemma. August 14 had to bring a climax.
In the fading hours of the thirteenth of August, a radio message had gone out from American Naval Headquarters in Washington to all units. From the Palaus to Hawaii, from Australia to the fast carriers standing just 150 miles off Honshu, Admiral Ernest King advised, “This is a peace warning.” All strike forces were cautioned to refrain from attacking the enemy in the next hours. Washington was giving the Japanese a few final hours to get their house in order. Beyond that time, assaults would be renewed.
At three o’clock on the morning of the fourteenth, an American colonel, Ray Peers, was trying to get some much-needed rest in his quarters in Kunming, China. He was awakened by Colonel Richard Heppner, who had just received a message from Wedemeyer in Chungking ordering the OSS to put the mercy missions plan into effect. Heppner was not ready and needed help.
Peers had compiled an extraordinary record as leader of Detachment 101, a guerrilla outfit in Burma. Now he was assigned to China as Deputy Strategic Services Officer, in charge of clandestine operations south of the Yangtze River. For one month he had been surveying his new command, getting acquainted with the problems associated with it. He never anticipated any like the one now handed him.
When Heppner outlined the mission, Peers said, “Move the teams up to Hsian right away.”
Heppner brought him up short: “But we don’t have the teams, we have had to use all of our personnel in new operations behind the Japanese lines. So that’s the problem. What do you suggest?”
Peers, a man of action, quickly assumed charge of the project. As dawn broke, he began to screen all available people for the dangerous jumps into Japanese territory. He had very little time left.
TWELVE
August 14—The Final Word
In Tokyo, events moved swiftly on the morning of the fourteenth. After only three hours sleep, General Anami breakfasted with Field Marshal Hata, just arrived from Hiroshima, where his headquarters had been destroyed. He had come to report to the Government on the effects of the atomic bomb. Hata told Anami that the entire city was gone, that the bomb was inhuman. However, he offered one bit of consolation. He said he believed the weapon was ineffective on anything dug in underground. Since it evidently was exploded in the air, properly entrenched defenses could survive unscathed.
The harried War Minister seized on this remark, telling Hata: “Be sure and mention this to the Emperor when you see him. Tell him that the bomb is not so deadly.” Anami was grasping at any shred of hope.
From this meeting, Anami went to Ichigaya. At 7:00 A.M. his men converged on him. Because Takeshita and the others planned to move at 10:00 A.M., they had to have Anami’s guarantee of cooperation within the hour. To speed matters further, they had told generals Tanaka and Mori to come to Ichigaya that morning for a special conference. By this time the rebels were frantic.
The general was prepared for them. Realizing that the peace group might move quickly for another Big Six meeting with the Emperor, both he and Umezu had asked that the conference be delayed at least until 1:00 P.M. Between now and then he had to thwart the rebels. Almost immediately he made his most important move.
&nbs
p; He took Colonel Arao down the hall to Umezu’s office. There Anami bluntly asked the general, “Will you back a coup?”
Umezu sat behind his desk and looked at his friend. Then he turned his gaze on Colonel Arao and said: “Absolutely not. There’s no chance of it succeeding. For one thing, the people won’t follow you.” Umezu’s voice became scornful. “Forty percent of the factory workers have left their jobs already. We could never carry on the war under these conditions.”
Anami looked at Arao, who could say nothing in the face of such determined opposition. By the time they left the office, the coup was falling apart. Anami, who knew of Umezu’s attitude before the meeting and who was certain there was absolutely no chance of his Chief of Staff lending aid to the rebels, had led Arao into a baited trap. The colonel went to a telephone to report the bad news to his collaborators. For Arao, the onerous task of acting as spokesman for his colleagues was over.
While the coup foundered at the War Ministry, the peace faction was galvanized into action. Koichi Kido was the catalyst. For several days, the B-29’s had waged a campaign of enlightenment as well as destruction over Japan. Millions upon millions of leaflets fell from bomb bays as the Twentieth Air Force attempted to inform civilians that the war was hopeless. The Americans hoped this cascade of paper would foment public opinion toward insisting that the carnage cease. They reasoned that the Government would thus be pressured more quickly into acceptance of the terms of surrender. But the plan, though skillful, was fraught with dangers. If enough troops read the information, if they became aware for the first time of the disastrous turn of events, if they suddenly grasped what was going on in the cabinet meetings in Tokyo, then quite possibly they would take things into their own hands.
At 7:00 A.M., a servant brought Kido a slip of paper that had fallen into his garden. It was an Allied leaflet and it told the whole story. Kido was appalled. A sense of impending disaster rushed over him, and he knew that decisive action must be taken that day before the troops put two and two together.
He called the palace and asked for an immediate audience with the Emperor. At eight thirty Kido arrived in his presence and broke the news. Hirohito sensed the danger immediately and urged Kido, “Do whatever you wish to speed the end of this war.” Kido suggested calling a last conference of all principals to demand surrender that day.
Leaving the library, he met Premier Suzuki, who coincidentally had come at that time to ask for the Emperor’s help in getting a decision. Kido asked the old man if he had called the Big Six into session. Suzuki looked anguished: “I am having a hard time. The Army wants me to wait until 1:00 P.M. while the Navy asks me to postpone it without setting a specific time.” Suzuki seemed at a loss as to what to do next.
Yet he made an unusual request and asked Kido if it would be possible for them to meet jointly with the Emperor and settle basic strategy for the day. Holding a dual audience with the Ruler was almost never done. But these were extraordinary times and Kido knew the Emperor would agree. They met with him at ten o’clock; out of the meeting came a surprising tactic, which threw the other members of the cabinet into a frenzied haste and caught the war party completely off guard.
Emperor Hirohito sent out a summons for his cabinet ministers to meet with him at ten thirty, in less than half an hour. The message caused absolute chaos. All over Tokyo, officials put down telephones and frantically rushed about to dress in proper attire. On this unusual occasion they were not required to wear formal clothes. Nevertheless, the resulting confusion in offices verged on the hysterical. Private secretaries lost their ties, shirts were exchanged, collars were closed by men trying to look more presentable before their Emperor. By car, they converged on the palace for a momentous confrontation.
They gathered in the library, a one-story building. They had entered it through an air-raid shelter in the entrance hall and now made their way to a flight of stairs leading to the underground conference room. Single file, the elite of the Japanese Government walked down the wet mat-lined steps between walls dripping with moisture. At the bottom of the stairway they turned right and walked to an open door, twelve inches thick. Beyond it was the council room where eleven of them had met with the Emperor on the night of August 9.
The air was clammy as they seated themselves in two rows of chairs in front of the familiar narrow table, now covered with a beautiful gold brocade cloth. Beyond the table was a solitary chair, straight-backed, with arms on both sides. Behind the chair was a six-fold gilded screen. Other than these furnishings, the room was starkly bare.
Twenty-four people sat waiting for the Emperor of Japan. In the front row were Yonai, Suzuki, Togo, Umezu, Toyoda and Anami. Surrounding them were assistants and secretaries. Baron Hiranuma was in attendance. So was Secretary Sakomizu, who was terrified. In his superior’s hands lay the power to bring off this meeting. It was up to Premier Suzuki to guide the conversation and circumvent any opposition. Sakomizu feared that the old man would fail badly.
For days Sakomizu had worried about Suzuki, and his fears seemed to be justified. The Premier had not been able to force through the Emperor’s initial surrender request of the ninth. At eight o’clock on this very morning, Sakomizu had gone to Suzuki to ask if he had prepared a proclamation for the Emperor to read at the cabinet meeting. Suzuki had no idea that he should have written one. Sakomizu was furious. He became even more incensed when Suzuki told him that he did not even have a speech prepared in case the Emperor called a meeting that day. Now, at ten thirty, Sakomizu felt his worst premonitions were about to be confirmed. The old man was sure to botch the whole plan. At the most important hour in his life, he would fumble his way through the agenda and lose the initiative so carefully built up these past days.
An eerie quiet prevailed, broken once or twice by nervous coughs. Anami sat in full military uniform, staring impassively at the door beside the gold screen. At 10:55 it opened and the Ruler of the Japanese Empire walked into the room. He was dressed in a military uniform. He wore white gloves. Hirohito moved to the simple wooden chair and sat down. His audience rose and bowed as he came in. Now they sat down and waited. Suzuki was the first to speak.
The aged Premier rose and faced Hirohito. After apologizing for calling upon him once more for guidance, Suzuki launched into a recital of the difficulties which had brought the cabinet to an impasse. In the back row, Sakomizu listened. His sweating palms betrayed his intense excitement as he heard the eighty-year-old warrior seize the reins of leadership and forcefully lead the discussion.
There was no doubt that the Premier was in complete command of the situation in this crowded room. Suzuki spoke without notes, yet his presentation was cogent and compelling. After outlining the problem, he turned to the generals and admirals and asked them to state their arguments once more. Anami and Umezu were so choked with emotion that their speeches were only confused and ineffective. It remained for Admiral Toyoda, the man without a fleet, to defend the war party against its detractors. He spoke brilliantly.
Toyoda stood before his Emperor and his peers and launched a last defense of the Japanese military. His points were the old ones: “The Emperor’s sovereignty must be maintained.…” “Japan must not be occupied.…” “The clause referring to the government eventually being ‘determined by the free will of the people’ is most dangerous and will undermine the entire Japanese tradition.…” Having argued his faction’s position better than anyone in the room, he sat down.
Feet shuffled and twenty-four men waited for the next move. Suzuki asked the Emperor to speak.
Hirohito leaned slightly forward in his chair and began:
“If there are no further views to present, I will present mine. I would like to have all of you agree with me. My view is still unchanged from that which I expressed at the conference on the ninth.
The Emperor was already having difficulty speaking. He began to sob out phrases, to pause and control his voice, then to continue. Everyone was visibly affected. Men started to sob qu
ietly.
“I have studied the terms of the Allied reply and have concluded that they constitute a virtually complete acknowledgment of the position we maintained in the note dispatched several days ago. In short, I consider the reply to be acceptable.” At this point, the Emperor broke down. His gloved right hand moved up under his glasses and wiped his tear-filled eyes. Then he continued:
“I appreciate how difficult it will be for the officers and men of the Army and Navy to surrender their arms to the enemy and to see their homeland occupied. Indeed, it is difficult for me to issue the order making this necessary and to deliver so many of my trusted servants into the hands of the Allied authorities by whom they will be accused of being war criminals. In spite of these feelings … I cannot endure the thought of letting my people suffer any longer.…”
Hirohito was almost incapable of further speech. His chest heaved as he struggled to finish. In the hot room, tears mingled with sweat on many faces. The Emperor concluded:
“It is my desire that you, my Ministers of State, accede to my wishes and forthwith accept the Allied reply. In order that the people may know of my decision, I request you to prepare at once an Imperial rescript so that I may broadcast to the nation.
“I am afraid that members of the armed forces will be particularly disturbed. If requested by the War and Navy Ministers I will be willing to go anywhere to talk personally with the troops.
“It matters not what happens to me but I wonder how I can answer the spirits of the ancestors if the nation is reduced to ashes with great sacrifice of life.
“Therefore, as the Emperor Meiji once endured the unendurable, so shall I and so must you. If there is anything more that should be done I will do it. If I should have to stand before a microphone, I will do so willingly.
The World War II Chronicles Page 18
